Uncertain
by Aquacero
Summary: *Circumstances arise that are simply out of one's control. They move like rapids in which one is dragged mercilessly along. Or - in the best case scenario, one is allowed simply to float along and enjoy what may come.* Comments and Critics welcome. I aim to improve.
1. All We Know

The euphoria lingered there, mingling in their state of awe. Both caught in the moment, savoring the fleeting pleasure even in sharing warm, gentle breaths between them. Shock fumbled through their minds; both reeling, both tinkering with the imminent implications of what they'd done. Why'd he do it? Why'd he let him do it? It never occurred to either that the night would end up like this, but for one, he seemed to need this connection more than anything else, and the other was just tired of everything.

Emerald eyes lock onto emerald eyes. The other's breathing steady and calm beneath him grants him assurance. Zig smirks and chuckles to himself.

"You taste like chocolate." his heart beat betrays the satisfied smile across his lips.

"And _you_ taste like kool-aid," that lopsided grin melts away any remaining inhibition, apprehension draining from Zig's extremities. Eli relaxes by moving his hands to rest behind his head, exhaling softly, lazily.

"Watermelon. My favorite."

How they came to kissing, neither knew, nor were either ashamed of the affection. Zig had a certain respect for Eli that only grew the more he heard about him. Driving a hearse, crashing said hearse for a crush, struggling with bipolarism all the while standing up for despairing victims when no one else would - Zig found all these admirable. That's all he thought it was, just the sort of infatuation younger people bloom when they find a hero to look up to. After Whisper Hug's performance, Eli intercepted a depressed looking Zig looking to recruit the band for a scene in Romeo and Jules. It lightened his dismal mood after his friends caught him stealing...somewhat. Then they started talking. Zig never new Eli could shred with the best of them, skateboard or otherwise. Every new topic became a connecting point - style of clothing, favorite video games, comic book superheroes. Granted they came upon an impasse on the subject of Batman vs. Spiderman...

Then Eli offered him an invite for a Friday night of Horror films and zombie video games.

Then Zig found out about Eli's deceased girlfriend. Zig tried patching a bruise with another, mulling over his family's financial predicament. Emotions bled as he confessed to losing his friends over a stupid mistake all because he only ever wanted to give her everything. Eli couldn't help but comfort him. He'll get over it. New friends will come, and perhaps the old ones will return once they've forgiven you. If he can deal with the chemicals over-influencing his brain, then Zig definitely could find happiness again.

Then they locked eyes.

Then Zig took a chance, his heart beating in his throat. Their lips connected, soft plain lips flavored with their last sugary midnight snack. Indescribably the best kiss he'd ever experienced, Tori couldn't compare. Eli accepted the kiss with his wicked lips, Zig heating up as he dared push for entrance, entranced by Eli's expert movements. Zig had no trouble keeping up, pushing Eli further back as he began to dominate the kiss. Their movements were slow and deliberate, Eli's hand caressing Zig's cheeks as he allowed himself to be laid down on his own bed, Zig's arms on either side of the lithe-yet-solidly-built senior.

It happened quickly, in a moment where everything was perfect, but nothing was certain.

They loved every idiosyncrasy of the moment.

"So...what are we going to do?" Zig asks. They've been sitting together on the edge of Eli's bed, smiling like two dweebs in a pod, "Are we like...?"

"Well. I'll probably be murdered a thousand deaths by the notorious Clare Edwards..." Eli looks downcast, his emerald orbs seem distant, contemplating this sudden occurance.

"I mean, I have a gay best friend. I never thought I might be attracted to guys though," Zig mulls.

"Yeah, I've been known to turn some heads," Eli jokes, earning a chortle and a smile from Zig.

"This is serious," he says giving him a light tap on the shoulder, "I thought I really liked Tori. I was into her. Now I'm kissing a _guy_? What the hell?"

Eli frowns. He's in the same predicament except worse. Truthfully, he doesn't know what the hell he's going to do either.

"Things aren't always black and white, and neither is your sexuality. I hate to rely on some cheesy cliche, but it's true; you are probably just bisexual like me. Able to emotionally connect regardless of sex."

"So you always knew...?"

"Haha, nope. I just found out today." Eli gives him a knowing smirk as he turns to face him. His hair is a perfect mess of raven strands, his eyes are a startling forest-y, emerald-y, green, and his smooth skin is wrinkled in happy curvy lines. Zig still hasn't grasped what this all means, how he can suddenly like a guy and feel perfectly okay with himself, how he just got to know and kissed possibly the coolest, most laid back guy in Degrassi, all in a single night. Reality hadn't sunk in; he was too drunk on something much greater than admiration.

"So how'd it feel being dominated by a niner?" Zig asks with a triumphant smirk.

"Shut up," Eli retorts, shoving a pillow in his face.

A/N: It's a bit outlandish, and kind of OOC, I guess. These two don't really interact in the show, so I made up something where they do.

This is a prologue, is what I'm thinking, although I could turn into a oneshot if I'm not feeling up to finishing.


	2. Is Falling as it Falls

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm just gonna go drive my hearse into a wall."

When I said that weeks ago, I was only kidding. I didn't ask for these frustrations that actually makes me want get in my car, and run it into a fucking train. Okay, I understand Clare's got her journalism thing going on - I get that. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't mind. But she keeps pushing me into this little box that she can just lock away in her closet and forget about. I'm tired of it. Spending time with Ali and everyone else takes precedence over two words with me. I've given up making dates with her. Can't even remember the last time we had a real conversation together.

Lately, I find myself getting angry over petty reasons. Bullfrog asked me to take the trash out last night and I went apeshit. I went on this long tirade about how no one seems to want me until they need something out of me, and somehow I ended up on the topic of _her_ and broke down in my hearse after storming out, trash bag in tow. Little things that shouldn't bother me are making my heart race and blood boil. Just regular teenage drama.

Just regular teenage drama...

And _Becky_.

And Zig...

This is just stress. There's no way I'm letting anyone else push me over the edge again. Not Ms. Sunshine, not Imogen, and definitely not Clare. _Again_. I still manage my bipolarism; it's become so second nature, I feel...normal. This stress, this irritability, this short fuse won't be blamed on my disorder. I still exercise regularly, still on the swim team...still taking pills..whatever.

Someone once told me the best way to get rid of stress is to think of all the things that have gone right in your life. I take a deep shaky breath, trying to loosen the scowl that'd grown attached to my face over the course of the month, earning surreptitious glances from Clare sitting behind me. I have the school play. Tristan and Dave are turning out to be the perfect pair for Romeo and Jules. Dave took some convincing, but now that he's all in, they're becoming more than I expected for the play. Speaking of which, a certain someone is no longer working with me. Granting on my nerves. All the damn time.

_Snap._

Don't think about Becky. Think about... happy places. Everywhere Becky's not.

From my peripheral, I see Clare leaning forward. She places a concerned hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Are you okay Eli? You seem tense." She's got the "genuinely concerned" voice down to tee. It's who she is and I can't really blame her for it.

I briefly look back, and nod assuredly, "Yeah, I'm okay. Pencil just snapped" I attempt a convincing smile, showing her the piece of graphite dangling from a triangular point. She smiles and returns to her seat, continuing her Essay while I rummage through my backpack for another.

I feel anger rise up again as I realize something: my problem isn't her or anyone else. It's me. She's not perfect, no one is. But she's trying. We even fell asleep on the phone once because we missed each other. I want to like her, and I do. But that means that I'm the world's biggest idiot. And what if don't? Now I'm a huge, complicated jerk she and all her friends will never want to see again.

How could I lead someone on like that?

_Snap._

Fuck.

8

"He's just so cute and this insanely awesome guy. I just want him to talk to me." Tristan swoons with his pathetic puppy dog face working it's magic on Maya and Tori. They always take to his problems so easily. He plays into their pathos so well, yet I make one mistake and earn all their scorn.

In fact, I'm here practically as a sad charity case. No one's really talking to me. Or looking at me for that matter. I'm left picking at my food, rolling my broccoli idly back and forth on my plate. The mashed potatoes are kinda lumpy, with little shreds of green things speckled in it. Probably onions or something. The over-fried piece of chicken laid half eaten, crumbs scattered across the plate, shreds of dry meat fray from the part of the drumstick which I picked from. This is me erecting my shield and failing miserably. The awkwardness was painfully obvious; the way the girls completely ignore my existence is becoming too much.

Then, I feel a sudden rush of goosebumps. Like a wave of confidence and comfort overtakes me. A light touch, a single finger stroked featherweight along my outstretched arm sent all kinds of good feelings through me, and I smile. I didn't need to see who; I know. Suddenly the chicken seems a little less dry.

He sits alone, eyes downcast as he forks salad in his mouth. He looks up, gives me that signature lopsided smirk, and returns to his food.

I guess me smiling threw them off or something. They have these confused-yet-very-disgusted looks on their faces that only girls can get.

Ever have those classes where you have no friends and the subject utterly bores you to death and it feels like there's no possible way you could ever get through it? But there's that one person you just like looking at so much that it tethers you to reality? Someone who's every features are a pleasure to observe, their hair cascading on their shoulders, the curvature of their nose, the light blush softly dusted on their cheeks? Like a piece of artwork and you just cant stop looking. I'm not staring. More like stealing glances really. Eli consuming his lunch by his lonesome was entrancing for some reason.

That said, I do have a little Eli-crush going on. Even before the make out, while we were taking turns getting our asses handed to us by Sephiroth, or clinging to each other while watching Paranormal Activity, I... I dunno. I like him. He's an awesome guy, what can I say?

Yeah, what _can_ I say? He's dating Clare, who he has so much history with. And me? In a week's time, I'll be back on good terms with Tori and Maya. What do I tell them when I show up at the next dance holding hands with a GUY? I've never shown the slightest interest in guys before now, and it's still so new to me. I'm definitely not ready to be on the receiving end of homophobic slurs.

I feel myself getting too hot for my skin, my mind becoming an incendiary blur. In a panicked rush, I storm off in need of air and a quiet place to think.


	3. Stuck On You

**A/N** I intended for this to be longer, so it doesn't feel like a bunch of nothing is going on, but I think it came to an appropriate stop, so I'll continue tomorrow or something. I guess. I dunno, feels a little dull.

0

"That's a rap, everybody. We'll start rehearsing lines for the next scene on Monday." Eli clasps his hands together, taking in how smoothly everything seems to be going. The musicians rarely had their blurbs. His actors didn't take forever to learn their lines, or their songs. Of course with any production, bloopers were had, funny ones at that. But for the most part things were getting done promptly. As of now, rehearsal for Act I was finished, and participants were packing up. Shuffling, talking, the pianist taking relief in playing casually all seemed to relax him.

"Tristan!" Eli calls, abruptly capturing the niner's attention, "Good work, buddy. And remember: breathe. In through your nose," he makes a gesture, inhaling as Tristan mimics him, "Out through your mouth," they exhale, "Relax. Your doing fine." Eli gives him a thumbs up and shoots him a smile of assurance. Tristan nods, and gathers his books and backpack, heading off with Tori.

Eli spies Dave already one foot out the theater room door and yells, "Dave!" jogging to catch up to him.

"Yeah, what's up?" he asks with a raised brow.

"You have a girlfriend man. Tone it down, or she might get jealous." Eli smirks, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha," Dave says, emphasizing each syllable, "Thanks dude, you're a great director. Wouldn't have been able to do this without you."  
Dave says appreciatively. "Ali's waiting for me in the science room, so I'll catch you later."

"Later dude." Eli waves, then heads off towards the Degrassi entrance. His facade fades, and he wears his lonely face. The mask he wears these days admittedly makes him feel better about himself, like he was over it all. Freshman drama. Fitz drama. Clare. But alone, where niches mean nothing, his broken soul wonders at all the possibilities of all the ways he's about to screw up. And it tears him to pieces. His eyes lose focus, and Eli becomes automated while his brain mulls over. Expressionless and careless, a vast viridian void.

He's not protected by the rules of scholarly society after hours. Cliques disintegrate.

He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel.

He pushes the door open.

He doesn't know how he _wants_ to feel.

Sunlight irradiates blindingly. He shields his eyes, green pools squinting in the brightness. The lot is fairly empty, only a few stragglers loitering for whatever reasons they may. A couple talking, a group of friends - nerds without cars or a license for that matter - playing Yugioh. And...

"Stuck on you...till the end of time...too tired to fight your rhyme." He sings, a little off-tune and person-ably quiet from the white iPhone headsets plugged into his ears. He was laying down, eyes closed and isolated, drowned in his music. Eli smiles, sitting next to him on the top step.

"Hey Rockstar," he grins, taking the headphones out, locking onto his morphic eyes. Zig startled out of his trance, greets Eli with a sheepish smile.

"Hey."

"Paramore. Never cease to impress," he states admonishing Zig with a "you did good...for now" look, while plugging one bud in his right ear, giving the left to Zig, "But are you well versed in the ways of the D-C-for-C, young padawan?" The smile on his lips is coy, and the glint in his eyes are challenging. Zig puts the left bud in, sits up, and twines his fingers together in his lap.

_Even when I'm alone, I hear your mellow drone. You're everywhere inside of me._

"Know them? I have posters of them plastered all over my wall. Try again Goldsworthy,"

"Quite the cheeky grin you've got there Novak. You wear it well. Not as good as me...but you wear it well." Eli pats him on the back, as if to say, "you've done well".

Feelings of distance grew between them as they finished listening to the track. They were in their own separate niches, barriers erected solely for the protection of their own sanctity. It was a comfortable awkwardness. One of a mutual understanding on a incomprehensible level.

"Hey. When's your ride coming?" Eli nudges Zig, breaking him out of the tangle vines of his thoughts.

"My mom's supposed to be picking me up in an hour or so. I had to stay late. Detention." Zig mumbles, hanging his head.

"On a Friday? Ouch." His brow furrows, exaggerating his facial features sarcastically, "Anyway, how about I walk you home? Better than sitting here like some co-dependent loser."

"I-I uh."

"Come on loser. Let me walk you home." Eli stands up, and holds his hand out, the lopsided smirk absolutely melting Zig of his inhibitions.

"Alright!" he exclaims, taking Eli's hand, being pulled up. Their eyes lock, and Zig feels his feet becoming heavier, as if all his mass suddenly drained to those extremities. His blood seemed to hot for his veins, and he could hear his heart beating in his hollow chest, pulsing in his ears. He looks sideways, unable to face Eli with the apparent blush. Eli's warm hand, soft and comforting wasn't helping.

At all.

"Let's get you home," Eli chuckles, patting Zig's shoulder. Zig embarrassed, mumbles another, "Alright," hands shoved into his pockets, and eyes downcast.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking your backpack, what else? That way, when we're off sidetracking everywhere I wanna go, you won't leave me."

Zig smiles. "Asshole," he says, playfully punching Eli's shoulder. Eli contorts his face in misery, clutching at his heart as if he were stabbed there.

"Let's go loser."

8

He has no idea how this worked, but he didn't fucking care. He's shit-faced wasted, and as far everything goes, it's better than all the depressing thoughts. And hell yeah! he got some answers. Which he'd likely regret in the morning, but who the fuck cares? He'll just regret it the morning. Right now, there's a huge ass dance floor inviting him in, the lights and sounds and body heat seducing him to stay. He didn't know why people were so...fuckin...anal about him being careful. This was the shit!

And he had no idea why he was cursing so much. Or when the whiskey stopped burning his throat. Or when everyone started multiplying like some fuckin...rabbits. He didn't care. He had his answers, or at least half of it. He needed this fun. Desperately. Hell was coming. He could feel it. Fucking certain. He crashed his lips against soft, beer-stained ones and had no regrets what so ever. Heat, rhythm, the pulsing beat, coursed through his body, so close, so close to another. This personal event, sloppily trailing wet kisses to the collarbone, feeling sweet closeness was all he needed. An impersonal, mutual symbiosis of meaninglessness.

No one he knew, no one to worry about, and best yet! No fucking consequences. No worrying about feelings. No one gave a damn about feelings here. Just drunk and stupid pleasure.

But the best thing he'll ever remember, even through the hangover will always be the answers.


	4. In the Photobooth

"_Dude_!" he shrieks, as I bolted out of the outlet, "You're so dead!" We're weaving and brushing past confused onlookers, as he chases me throughout the mall. I think I tripped over a baby stroller at one point, and I can't help but laugh at all the crazy stares and judgmental looks we're getting. As if they've never seen two dorks in a mall before. We rush past several kiosks, and I make a mental note to return to the pretzel one later, and I finally lost him through the hoard hanging around GameStop.

"Eli?" I hear him call, just barely making out his searching figure among the crowd, "Eli."

Well this works out nicely. Using this time to slip away, I decide to look around a bit. There's this neat outlet next door called The Bazaar or something. Fascinating shop, I must say. It has all kinds of cultural trinkets, things like kimonos, antique paintings, glass figurines, and wood carvings. The most awesome? All the ninja swords. Katanas hung on walls along side renaissance style broadswords and rapiers, while throw stars were displayed in a glass case by the register. Dude, it's like stepping into a freaking video game! The badass-est of them all was the 15 foot long blade of cold hard steel. You know the one I'm talking about. If you don't... go educate yourself.

I bet Clare would be fairly uninterested in this place. Well, she might like the dresses or the paper fans, but that's as far as the appreciation goes. Shame, since I'm pretty sure a place like this could make for an intriguing article. I miss her, y'know? I understand she's busy and all with her internship - she's about as passionate for it as I am for this play. It's not everyday that you discover opportunities that set you one the straight path for a happy life, so I'm rooting for her. But I miss the the times we'd fall asleep to each other's voice. Now, I'd be lucky to get a text...

I wonder if she's avoiding me...?

Snapping out of my thoughts, I didn't realize I'd been standing, rooted in what seemed to be a wood carving section, with artistically crafted chess boards an arms reach away. One thing catches my eye immediately, mesmerizing and quaint. Something simple, yet elegantly breath taking. Rarely am I ever entranced by something so desperately that respiration becomes labored and I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. I brush my fingers against the smooth, supple surface, daintily picking up the piece. Two necklaces perfectly entwined together meet at the pendant, a remarkable silver and obsidian fusion of two dragons. The dragons themselves dance, interlacing their elongate, lithe bodies forming an almost unrecognizable heart shape, accentuated by their wings at the crests. Milk chocolate colored beads, small and smooth, laced happy to be in unity on their thin black string. Each oaken bead was tattooed with a Japanese character, and from what I can tell, the message is differs between the silver dragon's string, and the obsidian's. I guess the coolest part, besides it's over all appeal, is the fact that the necklaces can be worn together as a single pendant, or separately. It's not until you actually unify the two and stare at it for a few minutes that you realize it's a heart.

Even though she's not particularly enthusiastic about dragons or whatever, she's definitely the type to appreciate the sentimental value of the friendship necklace.

_Hey. How do you feel about a congratulatory gift on your article's success? I know it's ... late, but how about it?_

Licking my lips out of anticipation, I send the text and purchase the necklace.

Definitely worth it. All twenty-five bucks of it. Although I'm not certain what the register's smug grin was about.

I can't contain a smug grin of my own as I walk out of the outlet. Zig still hasn't found me, and I've got that tingling flustered feeling from making a satisfying buy. There was no sting of regret from being overpriced - totally numb to it. Instead, the growing pin pricks of hunger emerged, so I make my way over to the food court. Maybe the tyke will find me there. I still don't have his number, so it's not like I can call him, so it's better to just sit in one place and let him come to me. What better location than the place I can stuff my face?

8

Who calls someone's mom a rhinoceros, tells them they have Brawl skills of a button mashing five year old, and the loveable face of Bowser? And with a straight face! Well, before zipping off before I could catch him anyway. He has the smile of Prince Charming, and the under-shadowing ego to compensate. He's hilarious, adorable, and admirable...and gone. With my backpack. I thought I had him cornered in Game Stop, but somehow the midget slipped out in the crowd without me noticing.

Where would be the first place he'd go to? From what I know about him, I could probably cross out most of the clothing stores. Except maybe Hot Topic.

Happiness ebbed from my being the longer it took to find him. I'm lost. I don't usually come to the Mall, and now I'm alone. Walking around hapless and confused isn't my definition of fun, especially when all the things I can't have taunt me in the face. _Na na na na na na, you can't have me!_ Eventually I make a conscious effort to avoid the outlets to keep myself from being disappointed. I still don't have his cellphone number, so calling him isn't an option. Let alone texting him a frownie face for ditching me. With my bookbag.

After failing Waldenbooks, Radioshack, JC Penny (don't ask), Footlocker, Gap, Hot Topic, Pacsun, and Guitar Center, I became frantic. I found myself walking faster, and my fingers shaking to the point where I shoved them in my pockets. Where could he have gone? He didn't... leave the mall without me right? Oh god, what if this was some mid-year hazing, and he's laughing it up at home with his senior friends? He wouldn't do that... would he? Why would he do that to me?

Dammit!

Furious with myself, I crash into the nearest wooden bench, trying to drown my fumbling thoughts with music. Tension accumulates in my temples, and my leg shakes feverishly with anticipation. My brows are furrowed in irritation. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I even acting like this... As if...

Where are you?

Swallowing my heart beating in my throat was a chore.

I decide to just go to the food court or something. I still have like, three dollars left from when I missed lunch today and worrying is making me hungry. I don't really like eating McDonald's too often even though it's my favorite fast-food joint. Well. I only eat there on certain occasions, like this one. The line is short, so it's not long before I have a sundae, double cheeseburger, and small fries to top off in tow. Everywhere the eye can see, people are clustered together. Family, strangers, and friends alike dinning in the same general area. It's pretty cool, makes me feel less lonely despite eating alone. I find an empty seat, tackling the salty, mostly fake, fries first.

My full focus was on the soft-served sundae, with chocolate syrup haplessly smothered on the top. But I could swear, something was moving beside one of those decorative pillars. I ignored it for the most part, figuring it was some kid playing at his table and the mother too busy to reign him in. Besides, I'm busy pity-eating, and I haven't even touched the cheese burger. What the hell is wrong with me? He wouldn't leave me...would he?

"_Where you want to be out on the street, on the street crawling up the walls like a cat in heat_." I sing just as the line plays.

Then I look up.

He slowly retreats behind the pillar with the most amazing "Oh damn, I've been caught" look on his face.

"Eli!" I yell, bolting up to run after him. He's quick on the reflex, sprinting away with a grin. The munchkin ducks and weaves through the crowd as if he makes a living off of running from fanatics, where as I leave a string of apologies in my wake.

"Just how far are you willing to chase me? Here I thought rhinos were supposed to be gentle." He laughs, calling back to me as he evades a customer, keeping just out of reach. We're attracting attention and we know it. The disapproving nods and mutterings of how uncouth we are glance off in the heat of the chase.

"We are. Just not to _other_ rhinos." I shoot back at him playfully. He stops, turning around with that lopsided grin.

"You just admitted to being a rhinoceros."

"Because I am. Rraawr!" I growl as he turns to take off again, but I pounce on his back before he could leave me again, wrapping my arms around his chest obnoxiously tight, and snuggling my face deep into his neck.

"Oh god. Either you or this backpack is gonna hafta lose some weight," He huffs, adjusting to my weight.

"My backpack doesn't appreciate you calling it fat." I mumble into his neck. He gives me a sidelong glance, and he's smiling. The look in those sweet green eyes. It's the first I've seen it. I don't know what it means, but it makes me ecstatic. Elated. Those words are cheesy. Happy!

It's here that I'll always remember, standing in the TGI Friday's exit, the 50c candy machines to left of us as dying sunlight cascades brilliantly through the glass mall doors. My arms hanging loosely around his chest, fingers linked like a necklace, I feel like I could fall asleep in his neck. Him entranced in vermillion-gold, while I just feel the cozy warmth it emanates.

He takes me back to my seat, bringing his food to the table I sat at. I notice besides his plate of orange rice and chicken, he bought something while we were separate. Inside the plastic bag, all I can make out is a box shape.

Taking a bite of my melting ice cream, I point to it asking, "What's that?" He raises an eyebrow, looking up from his bowl. He takes a glance at the bag.

"That? Something for Clare." he answers nonchalantly.

"Oh. Okay." Right. Clare. Tori and Maya have eased up. Things are less awkward I guess. I'd still rather hang out with Eli though.

We ate, him commenting on my "_fantastic and totally not artery clogging_" taste in food. I'll never tell him why I eat McDonald. Least of all why I'm eating it now. I feel so silly though. I'm crushing, yet he's still in love. Still crushing...on a guy...

The hell am I doing...What will Tori say? I don't want to be that gay best friend. And I really don't want Tristan thinking he has a chance with me. I doubt I'm his type, but still. He's an okay guy, but...eh. Whatever.

"Hey," he nudges me after we finished our food, "let's go for a walk."

I eye him suspiciously, "Sure, I guess."

"Don't worry, it'll be fun." He says as we rise from our seats and strolled the mall.

"As if abducting me, carting me to every manga, music store, and mall totally wasn't fun enough already. Not to mention the part where you _ditched_ me."

"You came back."

"I'm not your puppy."

"But you're adorable like one." he coos, holding my chin. Smiling I push his hand away.

"I thought you said my face was like Bowser's?"

"My cousin's poodle. What did you think?"

"_Dude!_" I exclaim shoving him playfully.

"C'mon. Let's take pictures of that pretty face of yours," he takes my hand a leads me into this kinky looking photobooth.

Here we are. Together and alone. Shut off to the outside world, while the moments inside are forever frozen in time. We took so many different pictures in so many different poses. We took pictures I'd forever frame on my bedside, some I'd hang on my wall. The majority of those we'd never let the outside world see, just the kind of pictures that would let me rest easy in nights of hell to come.


	5. I Can't Change

_Racing back to the days we left_

_We braved these bitter storms together_

"Yo. Eli?"

"Zane? What's up!" Eli surprised to get a call from an old Degrassi idol, was excited to catch up. He had been laying in his room in the dark, and hearing Zane's voice, he bolted upright.

"You mind picking Zig up tonight? Riley and I wanted to take him to our place at least, so someone could pick him up from there. But he insists you take him."

"Pick him up...? From where?" Eli, confused, became silent and attentive.

"Oh...he must not have told you. From the way he was begging me to call you..." Zane chuckles on the other side, "Dude, he's so wrecked. Kid knows how to party," the faint pulse of music radiating in the background. His blood freezes and eyes widen at the sound of groaning, slurred speech hardly recognizable.

"Zane. Where." Eli says with a deathly edge.

"Fresh Kicks. I'll text you the address in a few, right after I keep Riley from blowing chunks all over the floor."

"Alright, later." He hangs up.

This is nothing but his own fault, and the realization grinds his fragile heart, leaving its fragments dancing in the wake of uncertainty. Why would Zig do something so irresponsible? Of all the things that could happen... he'll be damned if he let's anything happen to him. Couldn't they have talked about it, before he made such a brazen decision? Together? Despite knowing the kid was ultimately his own man, Eli felt he was the driving force behind Zig's insane choices. Sinking gravity, immense and dense, crushed his lungs - he couldn't breathe.

Breathe.

Zig was fine.

He's in good hands.

With a jolt of determination, Eli hopped out of bed, fumbling through oblivion for his car keys. Grabbing them off his chest after moments of searching, he hastily shoved on a pair of shoes, heading out. Bullfrog and Cece were far more lax with him once they realized he had everything _under control_. Much less curfew enforcing, and much less nagging about taking his meds. A little late night stroll at two a.m. wouldn't bother them...too much.

Nothing to do but joyride his tension away. He found himself moping around a certain bench when Zane finally sent him the text. His phone illuminating brighter than the subtle orange glow of the streetlight, his face solemn as he stared down at his memories. Cold air and the scowl etched on his face gave way to warmth and a small smile. His favorite picture they took so many weeks ago still saved as his home screen. It was a short lived moment. He needed to focus on getting Zig home safely.

The bar was fairly close, at most a ten minute drive from the bench. A small relief; at least he wasn't an hour away from anybody that ever cared for him, getting wasted and vulnerable. Eli spotted the trio almost immediately upon pulling up. The were among the only people sitting outside not in line to get in the party. Underneath the neon sign, bright lime greens, vivid tropical blues, and volcanic crimson reds illuminated them. Zane completely sober was having a field day laughing at the expense of his drunken compatriots. Noticing Eli's arrival, he motioned for them to stay put.

He doesn't know why, but seeing Zig disoriented and smiling like a dumbass really pissed him off. It was a front to all the real moments when he himself genuinely put that smile there. That contorted smile and faded eyes, he hated looking at it.

"Tell me he didn't do anything stupid," he breathed, dangerous and brooding.

Zane glanced over at the two, then back at the distressed Eli, "Besides grinding on every guy willing to dance with him, getting shit-faced wasted, and not snagging Harold's phone number, nothing really happened."

Eyes wide, he searched for the certainty in his words, yet it eluded him. Even if that was the extent of things...he couldn't accept it. Likewise, it meant Zig was relatively safe. Eli let out an audible sigh.

"Hey. We took care of him," Zane reassures, reaching through the window and patting his back.

"Yeah, thanks," Eli says, getting out of the car. Zig's entire cheerful demeanor turned solemn upon seeing Eli. He didn't question it when Eli helped him into his car, leaning entirely on his sturdy shoulders. He just waved half-heartedly to his drunk buddy and not-so-drunk buddy, and let himself be laid gently in the back seat. Once he had Zig situated to his satisfaction, Zane leaned his head in curiously.

"So...are you two...?"

Eli shakes his head slowly before finally answering, "No."

8

"Hello, Ms. Novak? This is Eli."

"Hey sweetie. It's almost 3 a.m. What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing. I forgot to call you earlier to let you know Zig stayed here after seeing that new Spiderman movie. I felt bad having you worry."

"No, it's okay. I figured he'd be with you, since he often forgets to call. Thanks for letting me know, though I'd like it a little earlier next time."

"Yes ma'am. I'll have him home sometime in the afternoon, if that's okay?"

"Sure sweetie. Talk to you later."

"Bye."

That takes care of that. No way in hell would Eli bring him back home like that. He could suffer through his own parents, but letting down Ms. Novak wasn't an option. He tossed his phone in the passenger seat, looking back at Zig. He was laid out, crashed from the adrenaline high of the lights and sounds of the party. One arm across his eyes, while the other hung loosely off the seat. He hadn't moved or spoken since.

"Do you realize how irresponsible this was?" Eli starts, anger flaring, giving his voice that richer, louder quality.

"Why do you give a fuck?" Zig replies dry and nonchalantly. Eli knows it's no use arguing with a drunken person, but that did nothing to stop it from hurting. It's not the first time he's ever heard Zig swear. But it's the first he ever swore _at_ him. In a non-joking manner. Cruel and wicked daggers made of only four letters carve their way into his heart. Suck it up. The kid still needed help getting through the front door. The rest of the car ride was silent.

Getting him upstairs was a challenge. Zig was already heavier than him at grade nine, but it was mostly the uncoordination that made the effort cumbersome. He eventually piggy backed him up, silently as possible so as not to wake his parents. Eli already made up his mind to let Zig have the bed, and just take the couch downstairs. To his surprise, just as he laid him down, Zig reached up, grabbing a fist-full of Eli's T-shirt. Needingly. Desperately.

"Don't leave me."

Zig was greedy. He had been close to more bodies than Eli ever cared to count. He'd been tasting, each sample a slightly different flavor. He was searching, in desperate need for answers. He found them. He could cope with them. A bitter sense to the pallet, but it only made him all the more ravenous for one thing. Eli, who he could never have. Someone he could only love with half of his heart, and he likewise. A cruel thing, living off meager samples. The one body he wanted to hold, was always Eli's. Not even the haze of alcohol, nor the frenzy of a rave could hide the fact.

Eli crawls into bed with him, wrapping his arms around his frame. Zig nuzzles into his chest, inching closer before getting comfortable. Resting his chin on Zig's head, Eli sighs, drifting. They'd talk about things in the morning.

"I loved you." Zig chokes out, desperate and tired.

"I know." Eli replies before letting sleep take him.

0

A/N: I actually imagined this part to be shorter, as there was going to be a lot more to it. I'm also a firm believer in letting the reader (you) figure out PoV and the like, so I'm sorry if settings and such seem to change abruptly.


	6. So Make it Stop

_He was begging. Begging for the end._

This is why we can't be friends. My finger curling in his hair, comforting him in my arms as his hum vibrates through my chest. It's apparently impossible. We killed our relationship, yet we're still smiling in the end. I'm still hurting. But he's smiling again, so there's some victory in all this. But that doesn't change anything at all.

His soft touches, gently caressing the pendant restng on my chest, I'll remember them. The last feather strokes of his fingers clasping around it as he sighs, I'll remember it too. How many nightmares would spawn from this moment and leave me crippled in the fear of uncertainty?

8

We broke it off, there in the photobooth. It was only the logical thing to do: we've got girlfriends. Keep it simple. Avoid the confusion and heartbreak. Degrassi is already the kingpin of drama, so why add yet another piece of gossip to the story book? We can settle for friendship. He's great company, probably the best friend I've ever had. Every moment I spend with him feels like forever. Memories made with perfection. We'll still love each other, undoubtedly. After all, isn't that the foundation of any good friendship anyway? So this is what we are: a love relationship without being in love.

Could I see myself with any other guy? I have no idea, but the thought makes me queesy.

"Hello, earth to Zig?" Maya waves her hand in my face in frustration.

"What?" I reply, shaken out of my thoughts.

"Are you coming with us after school? Karaoke night. It should be fun." She smiles convincingly, her glasses reflecting her sincerity.

"Uh. Aren't you just...," Campbell walks past, just another fish in the hallway. I catch Maya tracking him with this adorable dreamy gaze, and my thoughts are confirmed, "Yep. It's a date isn't it."

"No Zig,_ it's not_," I wear my unamused face with a slight smirk as she blushes, "It's just karaoke. You, me, Tori, Cam, and Trist. He just needs something other than hockey... Stop looking at me like that."

"Of course I'll be there. Nothing like rocking it out on stage!" Headbanging, I strum my air guitar to the tune of Misery Business, while she giggles at my idiocy.

I guess Cam is pretty cute, I guess. It's probably half the reason Maya is into him. I can't imagine doing things with him that we did in that photobooth, though. Actually, it kind of makes me sick. Yet I don't regret anything that happened that day he stole me away.

Seriously, it wasn't easy convincing my mom that I wasn't being kidnapped, just spending the night. At one in the morning. I probably shouldn't make a habit out of that.

"Really Zig? Is spacing out gonna be your new thing?" Tori greets me, her hands on her hips a sign of her playful criticism.

"I think he headbanged his common sense out of his brain." Maya retorts, and they share a smile. They're just joking, I know. But it'd be nice if they asked about me every once in a while.

Who am I kidding, these are the same people who only _just_ recently found out I'm poor. I don't eat cafeteria food because I like it, you know.

They met up with Tristan on their way to orchestra class, while I made my way to math.

"_It's the faggot, see_?"

"_Not enough that he had to be gay, but fat too? Goddamn trash these days_."

Whoa, seriously? Inspecting the students with narrow eyes, I try finding the whispers I just caught. It was from someone that just went by too. No hockey jerseys. Denizen students still think that way, despite knowing this school's open environment? Which means anyone could be judging me...anyone. I wonder what my skater friends would think of me? When I'm not with the band or tagging along with Tori, Maya, an Tristian, I'm usually at the park hanging with them. I've impressed them with my boarding skills, I don't want to start over or even risk losing all of their respect just because I might like guys a little more than I like girls. Well not even that, it's just one person!

It's just one person...

Well. It _was_ one person.

Anyway, just because I can't take the pressure doesn't mean I have to let Tristan break under it. People hurting my friends is something I'll never allow. Gay, fat, or otherwise. No boobs or otherwise... Absolutely-perfect-in-every-way or otherwise...

I should focus on this quiz now. That I'm totally gonna bomb.

It's funny how I say we 'ended it,' even though nothing really began. We did all sorts of quirky things, we still do. We always did. I say that as if we've known each other since we could speak, even though sometimes it feels like we have. In that photobooth, we almost kissed. Lips so utterly drawn together, it felt as if he were pulling me by the heart of my soul, his eyes taking in every part of me. I was was wanted, and I wanted him. We almost kissed. Well, we kissed countless times too, but those were superficial, quirky pecks, and none directly on the lips I might add. That call saved us, yet hopelessly massacred any glimmering notion of 'us'. He tried to let me down easy. He did a fantastic job. But there will always be that bitter memory, my throat burning unshed tears and crushed hopes I didn't even realize were there.

Staring blankly at the numbers glaring back at me, I begin to pen-spin absentmindedly with my cheek resting on my fist in an expression of insidious boredom. I know these. I just can't bring myself to bring my pencil to the paper. Because then I'd be doing math. And math is boring. Thinking about Eli isn't. Speaking of who, while we may have 'ended' things, we still spend time together - as friends. Speaking of who, I don't think my own friends even know that I know him personally, let alone visit his home often enough. Clare is a lucky girl though. To be honest, I'm kind of thankful for her; she tempered him into what he is now. They have a relationship forged in fire and time - it's going to last. That bracelet Eli bought her at the mall, she hasn't taken it off since. Well, I imagine she takes it off to wash her hands or shower... I'm not imagining Clare in the shower. I definitely am not imagining Clare in the shower. She must have bought him that pendant in return, because he is infatuated with it. Two twin dragons twining around each other, Japanese writing etched into the double layer of beads surrounding his neck , the necklace seemed perfectly suited to his tastes. Sometimes he chews his bottom lip while tugging a the pendant. I think it's becoming a habit, actually.

Not a single problem solved, and there's 52 questions, and only five minutes left. May as well not fail with a huge fucking zero. The good thing about the school's bell is always the sense of relief it brings knowing that's one less class for the day.

As I met up with my friends at a lunch table, I can already tell something is wrong. The girls are wearing their sympathy faces, Tori touching Tristans arm, while he mopes around with his sad puppy dog eyes. Not surprising; it's a scene I'm using to coming to. I take my seat in silence, while they continue coddling to his every problem.

"It's just stupid, you know? That people still think that way, as if it's any of their business who any one else chooses to love."

"Really, all the homophobia is getting old. Rejects like them really need to get a new hobby." Maya says rolling her eyes.

"What happened?" I ask, only mildly interested. Usually when they have these conversations, there's no room for my own input.

"Some jerks were picking on Tristan," the '_Again_' hung unsaid. Probably the same two people I heard whispering in the hallways.

"Oh."

"_Oh_?" Tristan narrows his eyes, wearing a pissed and dangerous face, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Holding his glare, I answer, "You're just gay. It's not really that big a deal." Shrugging, I focus my attention on the cookie I managed to buy.

"Excuse me? You have no idea how hard it is being gay. Until you start liking guys and have the balls to be open about it, then you can say it's not a big deal."

Hey, whoa. See? This is why I keep my mouth closed. Happens every time, I try to be supportive and manage to look like the worlds biggest jackass in the process. Wow.

"Actually..." I start, getting up while they suddenly get wide eyed, "I'm going to go eat alone... Somewhere else."

"Zig, wait," Tori stops me, "I don't think he meant it to be rude, Trist."

"Yeah, well, it was a funny way of putting it."

"Sorry," I mumble, falling into a more permanent silence.

We have this ritual that started ever since that Monday after we first kissed. He kinda started, actually, when he ran his fingers along my arm, sending shivers throughout my body. We give each other random touches, just to let each other know we exist. I think of it as a little, "I'm here, don't worry" message. We never actually talk about them, or even reference them in any form or fashion. They just exist in those certain instances - moments of anonymous comfort.

It's the reason I'm hiding a smile right now.

"Zig, I'm sorry too." Tristan breathes, sometime later as we're heading back to his locker.

"Huh?"

"Oh come on, leatherhead, I'm apologizing for snapping at you earlier. Forgive me?" Goddamn, he's good at pulling out those eyes, even unintentionally.

"Sure, but usually you don't wait half an hour to get around to doing it," smiling, I playfully shove his shoulder, but he isn't smiling back. Nor Maya, or Tori.

"Oh look, the faggot has a boyfriend, how repulsive," it's the same voice from before, and suddenly a sinking feeling drowns hopeful thoughts as I turn to face him. I recognize the guy from the park, but he isn't one of the people I usually hang out with, though I know some people that do.

"Oh look, a cliche' homophobic loser spray painting an innocent student's locker. Loli-licker. Can't say I give you any extra points for creativity," Maya's snide remarks immediately demeaning his attempt at bullying Trist.

"Hope you enjoy detention, because Simpson is definitely going to hear about this one. And by the way, this one's mine," Tori retorts, grabbing me and locking our arms together.

"Better than being a butt munching ass-licker. Can't believe all the faggots running around the world spreading their disgusting ways." he says with a wicked smile, "Enjoy the artwork. A picture is worth a thousand words, no?"

My eyes were transfixed on Tristan's locker, red glaring paint etched with all the hatred from this kid's heart. It becomes more when I realize it's not just him. It's not just all the homophobes from degrassi. This red paint holds the weight of all the hatred anyone has ever felt for gays, carved on that blue canvas and burning its message furiously. The whole thing defaced with every derrogatory term the skater could think of. The animosity emanating from that locker burns, and it's not even directed at me. I wonder if a relationship with Eli would've been worth enduring the abhorrance of a nation of haters. If things weren't bad enough, Trist verging on tears, the fucking hockey team comes strolling by and starts laughing at the miscreant's handiwork. Praising it. High fiving. And worse of, they start chanting, "Fa-got, Fa-got, Fa-got, Fa-got!" It's only a small relief for Maya that Cam wasn't with them. Only Dallas, Luke, and two other idiots.

Finally, I've had enough. Adrenaline kicks in and I can't stop.

"STRAIGHT. STRAIGHT. STRAIGHT. STRAIGHT. STRAIGHT." I yell at them, and they become quiet and confused. By now, a little crowd had gathered onlooking this damnable commotion.

"What's the point? We know we're straight, you're not insulting us." Dallas states matter of factly.

"Yeah? What's the damn point in pointing out the blatantly stupidly fucking obvious?" I shout, punching the locker behind me, the hollow metallic rattling ring through the silence, "He's gay, so what? You're straight so what? Quit acting like fucking morons and go one with your life." Smiling and ecstatic, I snatch the paint can from the red haired skater, giving it a little shake. Wide eyed, they just watch as I deface my own locker, copying the slander he boiled into Tristan's.

"There. A matching pair, huh?" I look at my own handiwork with a satisfied smile.

"He admits it! He's a faggot too!" skater says, and the four hockey idiots join in laughter.

"Yep. I'm a faggot too, you caught me, " raising my hands, I monotonously feigned interest in my capture, "Now take your spray can, and get out." I toss the can to redhead skater, and he just looks at it. He looks at the team.

"Lets get out of here, bell's about to ring."

I managed to get myself detention too, for cursing within earshot of the school principle. Only like a week's worth though, as compared to skater's indefinite confinitement LOL. He actually had to clean both my locker and Tristans, so there's that. Hurray for unintentionally making someone do extra work? I guess. But even after all that red paint was washed away, I could still see it, plastered and oozing like blood. Terrifying words, words that strip you of love and comfort. Words like ice baths that shock you into reality - people legitimately hate you. They hate you for big reasons, small reasons, and no reasons at all. Where everyone dreams of unconditional love, love that forgives faults and appreciates everything else, there's also hate uncontrollably. My palms shake and sweat every time I touch my locker now. Those words that were tiny vessels.


	7. There Goes My Hero (Part 1)

A/N: I'm sorry. Between Studies and work, I literally forgot the existence of this story. Thankfully, I didn't think too far ahead in the plot, so it's not like I forgot where the story was going.

Herpaderp.

Anyway, dialogue is my weakest point, I think. Any tips?

0

Their usual hangout - a sunny Thursday morning in the home of Elijah Goldsworthy. The golden percipitation quenched any late-night grogginess, leaving quaint sleepy smiles and light yawns. Viridian eyes met Viridian eyes, deeper, brighter like Floridian waves on the coast, a color so fantastic, a breath hitched silently as he circumspected the room he'd become so fond with and familiar of. The pair of eyes never falter, and the grin never fades - Zig can feel his gaze even with his back turned as he inspects the looming british flag on the wall. Finally squirming in heated skin, Zig turns to Eli. He doesn't have to ask.

"I'm proud of you, you know?" Eli condones, shifting his arms behind him.

Zig scoffs, chuckling out, "Of what? Landing myself a week's worth of detention?" His gaze goes from the beige carpet floors he'd made his mattress, up to meet Eli's gaze. They were pretty fascinating, but like the sun, it's better not to stare for too long.

"Lucky my mom likes you. She figures grounding me at home is the same as grounding me here." Even if it where the case, he'd much rather be grounded here than at home. For obvious reasons, Zig thinks.

"Yeah, I know, I'm awesome," Eli flourishes his hands in a 'stop flattering me' fashion, "But so where you. It reminds me of stuff I would do whenever people would give Adam hell. So proud of you, Zig. I really am."

"Thanks, man."

It's strange, the features Eli presented him with. Zig has seen many of Eli's smiles, even noted his favorite ones and knew just the circumstances to bring them about. This, however... was different. Forlorn even, but welcome. Eyes half-lidded, brows lax - the corners of his lips turned faintly, yet definitively. His morning hair cascaded messy raven curls over his forehead. Those green eyes were beautiful forests he'd never get lost in. Zig couldn't hold his gaze, fearing he'd get too familiar with this Eli, showing off a face he should never see again.

"I love your eyes. They change from green to this unmistakeable blue, especially in the sunlight."

Zig quickly blushed, resuming his scansion of every iota of the carpet beneath him. Suddenly, he was thankful they don't share Eli's small bed (though more often than not, Zig is usually the one sleeping in it). The urge to break their pact and swallow Eli's being whole in one passionate kiss would have been far too powerful to resist. Teetering in the friendzone proved easier when his crush wasn't overtly flirting with him.

Satisfied with brazenly making his ward uncomfortable, Eli slinks out of bed, pats Zig's head comfortably saying, "C'mon champ. Time to get ready for school."

Zig held a goofy grin as he watched his friend pad barefoot to the bathroom, relishing the chill of ASMR rushing down his skull, running through his spine, and racing throughout his extremities. The simple touch of his fingers threading in Zig's bed of hair coerced him nearly comotose. The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut snapped him out of his reverie, turning his cheeks a darker shade of crimson as he realized he'd just been staring at Eli's lithe body cloaked simply in a grey-blue T-shirt and boxers Zig already made fun of him for.

Rapidly concussing his head in an attempt to clear it, he rubs his eyes anxiously.

"Aaaaahhhhh, fuck."

He had a queue of problems building up this morning, one of which needed immediate attention.

8

Moments like these hardly presents themselves; as far as Zig recalls, this is the first. He wasn't sure what to expect, riding to their notorious school together. Half awaiting an inevitable circumstantial silence that often accompanies car rides such as these, he fidgets in the passanger seat. But it's Eli. Like green eggs and ham, he's the same no matter where they go together. His fear faded into fantasy as he finally realized the notion proved obsolete anyway. So what if neither had anything to say? Zig would be happily content just being near him, looking at him, knowing he's got a friend in him. What greater joy could he have, in the moment, knowing that his very own hero was proud of him? A proud hero, who currently was arguing over what station to tune into, while heatedly discussing the technical merits of today's Pop, Rock, Rap, and R&B music. Admittedly, he should be paying attention to the road, but what the hell? It's nice to agree upon the shitty quality of certain songs, while certain, fairly unknown talents go relatively undiscovered. Though the norepinephrine and epinephrine induced rush from telling him just how wrong Eli was, causing dangerous drifts into other lanes, felt invigorating.

_Right through that screaming crowd. While laughing up a storm, until we were just bone. Until it got so warm, that none of us could sleep._

Today was a good day. Fairly strange, but satisfactory nonetheless. No, it's not that Cam broke his, which was sometime ago and now had it cast, nor the obnoxious sunshine girl obviously tapping into people's primal pathos to out-sell everyone else. That much is 'Oh well'; take it or leave it. Cam plays hockey, so eventually he was bound to break his arm, and Becky Baker is a sucker for charities. Zig might relish some delight in seeing that cast, he'll never admit. Honestly, he never had a chance with Maya, but their fling was the signature to the absolution. Frankly, he's used to it, never obtaining the things he truly desires. It seemed his inescapable fate.

None of his relational failures, nor his penurious lifestyle, had an impact on just how good today was. He became aware of little idiosyncratic mishaps, most of which he happily ignored. Paper balls thrown his direction. Freshly masticated spearmint chewing gum conveniently appearing under his desk after requesting the use of the bathroom. Zig could write it off as unfortunate derps and continue his day. He had a fantastic morning, his friends were particularly accompanying and jovial, none of his classes seemed to be giving any amount of homework, not like he paid much attention to what they were saying anyhow. Insignificant nuisances where all they amounted to. Nearly dying at least four times this morning certainly puts gum and paper balls into perspective.

He had a fourth period class to consider attending, and five minutes to make the decision. He always goes to class, really. The pit-stop at his locker consumes much of his time to consider skipping, which he totally wouldn't do on a regular basis. Just whenever he happened to be sick. Setting his backpack on the floor, Zig makes to open his locker, reaching for the dial absentmindedly. He freezes suddenly, his movements becoming slow and deliberate. His heart rate quickened and his breath hitched as his mind and body was sent into hyperdrive. Like every part of his body had its own intent, silently screaming, begging to be heard. But his thoughts were reeling as the horror film of his memories played back. If only he could touch the cold steel. Dispel the torturing thoughts and clear his mind.

Inhale.

Shiver.

_Run._

The moment Zig's palms laid upon the cool locker door, he was shoved face first against it. Anger came before confusion, as his homeostatic state been brutally disruptive by some asshole with problems. Helplessness fueled his flaring emotion; if it came to it, Zig wouldn't be able to defend himself particularly well. He's stronger than a lot of guys his age, and taller maybe. A fighter, he was not. When someone fucking shoves you into a locker as a formal greeting, you can bet your ass they're in a fighting mood. And dammit, he didn't have time for this. Emptying hallways were a fair indication of impending tardiness.

"What. _The hell_. Is your problem, Nick?" Zig seethingly exclaims, all attempts at controling his temper verging on failure.

Nick grins. He'd feed off of dismantling Zig. All the right words and all the right actions he knew to use at his disposal to elicit any entertaining response.

"Is this how you treat people that flirt with you? Huh, Ziggy?"

Zig winces at the pet name, more so than the irony of the idea of a homophobic retard hitting on him.

"Definitely not my type. Should've tried spitballs and paper airplanes, maybe you would've had a chance." Zig retorts, malice in his voice. He shrugs and returns to open his locker once more. The residual stinging from colliding with the steel once, amplified from a second, crueller slam. A pathetic yelp escapes him, as the burly hockey player jabs him with fist like sledgehammers, repeatedly in the ribs. Nick grabs a fistful of his hair and slams his face into the locker once again, grounding it there, with Zig helpless against the strong arms pinning him to the locker. Zig groans and whimpers from the pain, but the fire and anger roar into a conflagration.

"You're just a weak little faggot. Nothing but somebody else's bitch, you know that?" Nick taunts, "See? You don't even have the balls to struggle free." He remarks grinding his head harder into the locker. Zig is sure his nose is bleeding, and his ribs shooting pain like poison and tiny throwing stars made him certain one was broken...at the very least bruised.

"Then there's the eternity-of-damnation thing," Zig swears he shrugged, as if it was an after thought. As if Nick weren't already a prick.

"_Fuck you_. You think what you and all your pansy gay bashers do is anything to be proud of?! Go work on your own insecurities, and maybe every girl you ever meet won't run as far as you are stupid. And for the record, I'm _not gay_... dumbass. But you pinning me to the locker makes me think you're in heat for a good bottom." Zig couldn't help but laugh at the painfully obvious irony of the situation. He began his tirade infuriated, his voice laiden with all the vituperation Nick managed to extract from his typically docile self. Even Nick was shocked at the level of gruff and baritone Zig produced when he's angry. But the precision and confidence with which Zig made an ass of him stunned and offended Nick. His pride hurt. He was supposed to be the one prodding, not the other way around.

As any neanderthal would do, Nick decided to cause as much pain to his object of loathing. He spun Zig around, facing him. Nose not broken, but bleeding nonetheless, there wasn't enough pain ridden on that face for a moment like this, Nick thought.

"Let's see just how many girls you pick up with a face like -"

"Yours?"

Growling, Nick swung, his fist dangerous potatoes threatening to rearrange Zigs face.

"You know, it's funny how many punches I catch weekly. Putting idiots like you in your place is turning out to be a hobby," Eli states, sarcasm saturated in his voice as he hands Nick his fist back, stepping between them, "Nice catch on the set up, by the way." He adds, briefly turning to Zig, that eternal smile and those green eyes his saviors.

Nick, confused, shakes his head, "Who the hell - _Oh_... You're that Bisexual guy. Come to -"

"First off - Back the fuck up," Eli's eyes are dangerous, and his voice lethal without the tone of sarcastic chipperness. Nick automatically takes three steps back, not daring to disobey the orders of Eli Goldsworthy.

"Second, I'm _Bipolar, _a mental disorder," he emphasises deliberately, making certain the dense player knew the difference between the two terms, the sarcastic smile and light to his eyes masking the lethality once more.

"And before you ask," He raises his and quickly, nodding his head in knowing wisdom, "_Yes_, that means I'm insane. If you want to see just how much, _keep fucking with my friends_."

It was in that moment, Zig literally was afraid of Eli. He heard the stories, he knew the rumors; Eli could be frightningly crafty, insanely possessive, doggedly relentless, and most of all, nice. The lengths he would go to make someone pay were terrifying, and he'd do it all in the name of someone he loved. Eli might not be physically the strongest, fastest, agile athelete (though he's been known to take worse beatings than Zig had), but no one who had an IQ high enough to not be made fun of would dare incur his wrath.

As much as Zig dislikes Nick, he doesn't want him to end up in Mexico, hoping to find Santa Claus.

It'd be funny though.

Nick relents, heading off to class, and Eli turns to his friend, inspecting the damage. He winces at the nosebleed, the blood already drying on his lightly tanned skin. But nosebleeds are easy to manage, and with no cuts,surprisingly, from being shoved into the locker, all Zig needed was to stop the bleeding using the conventional methods.

"I'm fine, Eli, really?"

"Bullshit. Hold still." Eli commands, gentleness ebbing from his voice. He lifts Zig's shirt, intently observing his torso. Lightly, he grazes the bruising area with featherweight finger strokes. Zig hisses from the tenderness, while Eli sighs in irritation of people's inconsideration.

"Come, I'm taking you to the nurse."

"But I need to hurry to class. Bell's about to ring."

Shaking his head, "No, you need to make sure that's not broken. And clean yourself a bit."

Zig falls silent, allowing Eli to take care of him. Gentle Eli, Eli that protects and loves. This is the Eli he always wants to see, not dead serious Eli who threatens the safety of everyone around him. In all the time the spend together, this walk through colorful corridors is the most they've spent together within the walls of Degrassi. Their worlds are too far apart.

"Now would be my study hall, but I have to check on Imogen's stage design. I'll come find you during Lunch? Okay?"

Zig nods as the Nurse takes over, "Bye Eli..."

Today was a _fantastic_ day.


	8. There Goes My Hero (Part 2)

Nothing presented itself overtly misplacen, though he had to condole himself to keep from overreacting. Eventually even that served as nothing but an impending stressor, so he had to direct his mind elsewhere. Why didn't he want to come over? Did he do something to offend him? Was he mad, or maybe he's having some sort of crisis he decided to hide away? He should call, but they haven't shared phone numbers yet. He finds himself becoming frantic; so many questions going unanswered, and the unrelenting desire to make things right sent his heart rate skyward, while grounding his securities to dust. He had to go see him, find out everything! Grabbing his keys, he darts downstairs. Hastily, he takes off into the obsidian night. The motor hums a desperate crescendo as he speeds under the mellow orange lamplight. He can't take it; he snaps. The car comes to a screeching halt. He's been here before, a night much like this. He was being irrational, he _knew_ it. The conclusion to the unfolding events were clear on this path to destruction. Knowledge, however, was no pain medication; knowledge doesn't stop the burning, the chaos that churns in his heart. Control is no companion of his. He's nothing more than a walking disaster.

Tires screeching, he decides on a completely different destination. Determination set, he's out to prove one thing:he can be trusted with his emotions. Often, in the past, no one would feel safe around this precarious person. But Zig wasn't part of his past; he didn't need to experience the anxiety of always guessing Eli's erratic behavior. He wishes that that part of his life were over, and sometimes he fools himself into thinking it's true. Then it all resurfaces in a violent torrent, threatening to wash away all securities he worked for.

He abandons the car, leaving it parked in the empty lot. Frigid air sharpens his thoughts as he heads deep into the forest, to a clearing obscurred from the outside world. Jagged rocks and bolders littered the area, portruding like granite watermelons from the bossom of the earth. This special place forever burns in his memories, as the true burial site of his first love. Someone who had such an influence over him, she haunted every moment of his life and every crevice of his sanity. No fault of her own; love makes Eli crazy. It's sadistic and torturous. It leaves him desperate on his knees, begging for answers when all he knows is falling apart. His love for her destroyed their relationship, and it destroyed her. It also happened with Clare. He refuses Zig to be another victim. He didn't have a photo of him to pump with a shotgun, or a shotgun with him. All his photos of him were buried in his closet, locked away so Adam or anyone else couldn't find them. Besides, he didn't want to bury Zig like he did her. No, not at all. He just wanted to scream. Yell. Cry til his eyes went dry, all in attempt to calm down. Let his agonized voice reverberate in the empty space, and fill the perfect black sky. The stars couldn't hear him. The shining moon wouldn't watch the spectacle. A confused and desparate boy filling his lungs with all the anxiety and anguish he knew he shouldn't feel, laid to rest his superficial fears. Alone, the bite of frigid air heaving through his corrupting lungs, he closed his eyes and collapsed against the nearest boulder.

Insane or not, Eli can't resist the urge to protect his padawan. That fact etched true into the fabric of his being; he protects the ones he loves. However, this truism is the very source of his dilemma. Eli really doesn't mind if Zig comes over or not; they spent plenty of time together, one weekend alone wouldn't hurt. But this one, the one where his presence meant the most... why did he refuse?

Why'd Zig pretend to be something that isn't him? Those words would resound in Eli's head, never ceasing even through the nightmares and the morning.

8

Zig has no idea why he declined. Maybe he just wanted to crawl in his bed, and lay in the lonely corner of his tiny room. Possibly just wanted to experience the sheer existential horror of fear, confusion and self loathing. He's nothing but a liar. His love life is a sham - how many people does he have to fall for before he realizes he'll have no one in the end? He fell for Maya at first sight, and still kind of likes her. He's dating Tori, all the while ankle deep in a possible gay relationship. He might not be all that awesome at math, but that's a lot of hearts to break in one year. Consequently, plenty of enemies to make as well. The thought of those he holds dear hate the sight of him sends his body into a feeble state, clutching tightly to his lumpy pillow he had grown unaccustomed to. Love is the state of having and Hate is the action of taking. Zig already feels as if the world itself hates his family of two, so finding Love in his everyday relationships was his only grace. It's for this reason he fears a relationship with Eli, yet wants it more than anything. With it, the full and unbridled wrath of homophobia is an absolution. Things were already horrible enough with just being _associated_ with a gay, but actually being any form of homosexual? Bi or not, they wouldn't care. They would torture and taunt him the rest of his Degrassi existence, robbing him of his sense of self-worth. They would break him, much like he's shattering here, stinging tears engendered from utter helplessness rolling down his cheeks.

He wanders down the path of suicide, his mind rummaging through copious shameful thoughts. Nick's rough abusal of his body...he liked it. At least, his body told him he did, though all Zig wanted was for the event to be over. Denial was futile; something about dominance sparked _something _in his jeans, and he hated it. Not like slamming him into the lockers or viciously punching him in the ribs was a turn on, because it wasn't. It was the pinnings, and the innuendos that seemed to cause such reactions. It revolted and reviled him, that he could be so weak and needy to someone who geniunely want to hurt him. Would that be the extent sexual experiences with guys would be? Who immasculates the other? Thinking back, hadn't he done the same to Eli, pinning him to his own bed as Zig sucked his face? Zig doesn't really know how everything works, either. Sure sexuality is dependent on who he falls in love. But eventually...

No. He isn't ready for anything. His body tells him things he doesn't understand. He fears losing those he holds closest to his heart. He might find some sick sexual pleasure in his bullying. Most of all, Eli rejected him. Twice. As if the photobooth incident weren't enough, having all those almost-was memories locked away under his bed, he went as far as to deny his Bisexuality. As if saying, 'I dare you to talk about it.' Sure he himself said he wasn't gay, but that's because he didn't think he was. He fell in love with girls and had certain fantasies about them long before the confusion and heartache of these experiences. Staying with Eli tonight was an impossibility. All he wanted was to literally cry himself to sleep as he attempts feebly at sorting out his life.

Well, Eli made it perfectly clear, Zig chides himself for ever continuing to hope. He'd figure this one out on his own. Find the answers to his persisting questions, at any cost. The peace of mind is well worth forgoing the the headaches.

_Black flies on the window sill, that we are to hold. Comfort came against my will, and every story must grow old._

Zig refuses. No more will his peace of mind be stolen from him. It's one of the few things entitled to him, and something he'll never relinquish. Forget having love from other people. He had to make sure he loved himself first - if not, he'll never be satisfied. He formed his game plan. Getting their numbers was no easy task, and it was lucky enough that they were home from Eastern for the week. Zig isn't a fan of _deus ex machinas, _but figures he wouldn't complain. They'd help him; they went through tough situations themselves and would be able to pass on some pointers for himself.

8

"It was MY idea, Eli! I _am_ allowed to make my own choices right?"

"And there was _no_ other way you could have done this? Like googling images of shirtless men or something? Anything safer than going to a bar in the _middle of the night_ and getting wasted?!"

Eli didn't want it to go this far, never intended for the accusations to fly into anger and desperation. But here they were, wishing the other gone.

"You're the one who left me like this... confused. You wont...you won't let me..." Zig begins to falter, his voice a shallow wimper.

"Zig, you know that I can't. I just can't leave Clare when she's going through so much right now!"

"Well, if I couldn't figure this out with you, I'd do it on my own. And guess what? I DID. And I don't regret it. I know what I want, and I used to think it was you. At least now I'm certain I could be fine with anyone else!"

It stung, a blow to his pride. Biting his lip and fiddling with the pendant absentmindedly, he stared with half lidded eyes at his clean carpet. Eli realized it before, when Zig lay asleep in his arms; they were practically boyfriends who never kissed or even said, 'I love you.' They weren't friends. They were just too right to be anything else but lovers.

"We can't be friends," he whispers, disturbed by the words flowing from his mouth.

"What...?" Zig asks, eyes wide in shock, "Eli, what?" incredulity creeping in desperation.

"It's obvious. We hurt each other even when we're happy. There's no way we can work, as friends or otherwise."

"So that's it then, we can't even talk?" Zig flails his arms, conceding to submission. Sure he could find someone else to fall head over heels with. Truthfully he didn't even have to look far, what with his hot girlfriend and all. But there's no replacing Eli. Not having him in his life at all? It's a hard concept to stomach.

"C'mon, I'm taking you home." Eli despondently commands, his features exhausted as he calmly grabs his keys off the dresser. Zig follows him to his car, the second utterly silent encounter for Eli. Zig's head hurts only a little, and there's pain in his chest and a burning in his throat, but maybe ... maybe they needed to be apart. Their lives were toxic; they were killing each other emotionally. Still, he couldn't come to regret last night. But the price was much heavier than he ever anticipated. He hung his head low, not caring how long it took to reach his door. He didn't want to, but one last look at the best friend he ever had was an obligation. Their relationship meant much more than his pride. Those green eyes ridden with unshed tears, he needed to see them. It was the least he could do for breaking his hero's heart.

_He's ordinary!_


End file.
